Amore
by Kaisliana
Summary: Okay, so it's been done before. But I wanted to try my hand at it. So, here's a series of oneshots featuring practically every Sam pairing possible. Rated T, but some chapters might be M...just a warning. This is me taking a break from WMS and SE7EN.
1. A Bad Influence

Amore

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own it. The magnificent Terri Farley has that honor.

**PAIRING**: Take a wild guess. I want to see how many people get it right. I think it's quite obvious, actually… :D

**TITLE**: A Bad Influence

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He was a bad influence on her, that was for certain.

As he pulled her into the utility closet, she could only smile wryly. It'd been their routine for weeks; exchange witty banter in public, flirt like crazy at lunch and then, when neither could stand the tension any longer, he'd pull her into an out-of-the-way corner, or closet, or deserted bathroom during a passing period and ravish her until she couldn't walk straight.

As he pushed her up against the closed door and attacked her neck with tooth and tongue, she could only sigh; he knew all the spots on her body that could make her knees buckle.

And, as he pulled her shirt up over her head and started on the button of her jeans, she could only desperately grasp the first thought that came to her: _I wonder if I'd be this way if I'd just listened to Jake and stayed away from him_.

Then, all thought disappeared and she could only give herself over to the way he was making her feel.

Afterwards, as they hurried to find their clothes in the cramped space, he caught her eye and flashed her a wicked grin, reassuring her that things hadn't changed; they were still friends. Just because they enjoyed each other's taste and touch and shared amazingly mind-blowing sex didn't change anything. She always feared it would. He was always quick to put those fears to rest, at least for the moment.

She returned it with a wolfish smile of her own, and couldn't help but think that she'd definitely be different if they'd never met.

He was a bad influence on her, that was for certain.

She wouldn't like herself any other way.


	2. Chores

Amore

**DISCLAIMER**: Don't own it.

**PAIRING**: -Coughs- Haha. There's really only one Ely who fits in this chapter.

**TITLE**: Chores

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: To all of you who guessed Sam/Darrel for the previous chapter were right. I told you it was easy. :

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As one of the older Ely brothers, he had a right to the better chores around the ranch; working with the horses, going out to round up cattle and the like. But it couldn't all be fun and, unfortunately, he was also saddled with the responsibility of shoveling hay.

It was boring. It was tedious. It was just the type of chore that any other person would try to shove off on someone else's shoulders. Any one of his brothers would have attempted to do just that.

But he, being the quietest of the Ely boys, after Jake, of course, had turned the time he spent with a shovel in his hand into his own, personal "me" time.

He let his mind wander freely, expertly twirling the wooden shaft of the shovel in his hand as he mucked out the stalls; dirty hay out. Clean hay in. Out. In. He thought about all the stuff he was forced to push to the back of his mind during the course of the day, stuff he'd never speak about with anyone, not even Adam, the brother he felt closest to. Everything he wanted for his future; college, a happy marriage, maybe even some children some day. He smirked at his thoughts. _Like that's going to happen_.

Some days, he didn't think of anything specific at all, but everything and anything that just happened to pop into his head.

It was on one such day that she found him, pondering the new filly his father had just gotten for him to work with. He'd been a little surprise: Jake was the horse wizard of the family. But Luke had insisted that he was to train her.

Said filly was currently watching him curiously over the top of her stall, large brown eyes tracking every movement.

In. Out. In. Out.

She was a beauty. With a coat a bright, fiery shade that rivaled the color of the sky just before the sun peaked out over the mountains, and a mane and tail an even richer tone that matched a freshly lit flame, she was assured good-looking foals, if he ever decided to breed her. He was seriously considering it.

But before he could breed her, he needed to train her, and that was proving to be quite the challenge. She had a spirit that matched her coloring, and, though she was a sweet-tempered animal with him, and, of course, Jake, she could be slightly jumpy and more than a little snappish if one got too close.

He shook his head at the memory of her almost peeling the skin off of Quinn's arm and chuckled to him self quietly.

In. Out. In. Out.

"Need any help?" the suddenness of her voice in the silence of the barn startled both him and the new filly. He jerked, almost dropping the shovel and the horse snorted, but didn't shy as he'd expected her to. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted her standing in the doorway of the barn, leaning up against the framing with her arms crossed across her chest. Her hair was in two plaited braids, one on either side of her head, and he thought she looked just like her mother. What he remembered of her from his childhood, at least.

"Nah. I'm okay here," he turned back to his work.

In. Out. In. Out.

"Jake's out on the range," he continued, not looking up to see her leave, fully expecting her to go look for his youngest brother.

The sound of metal clanging against wood startled him again, and he spun on the spot to face the sight of her pulling a spare shovel out from the darkness of the corner of the barn. When she'd successfully wrestled it from its resting place, she walked over to him and, without any preamble or explanation, thrust the tool into a patch of soiled hay and deposited it into the wheelbarrow he was using.

Sensing his stare, she threw a quick glance at him and flashed him a dazzling smile.

He grinned back, and went back to work in the companionable silence that settled over the barn.

Usually, he didn't enjoy any intrusion on his personal thinking time. But, suddenly, he couldn't think of one reason to kick her out. His mind filled with thoughts of red hair, soft brown eyes and kind smiles.

The unnamed filly let loose a shrill whinny, and they both looked up. She lifted her front hooves in a tiny rear, pulled her upper lip back over her teeth and bobbed her head, and the pair laughed openly at her antics.

Suddenly, the previously bleak outlook he had on how his new filly's training would go shifted into something brighter. She'd be a great horse, once she was polished up a bit.

Maybe he'd enlist some help.


	3. Frozen

Amore

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own it. Wish I did, but I don't…So there you go.

**PAIRING**: It should be fairly easy to guess this one. I seem to have a problem writing anything pleasant about the two. It's also a shameless plug, but I'll leave you with that.

**TITLE**: Frozen

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Oh, God, guys. I kind of feel dirty after writing this. I'm not going to lie. I kind of hate myself right now. I honestly can't seem to write this pairing with a plot that would leave them happy and loving one another, so I resort to this. It's, without a doubt, an _extremely_ shameless plug, really, but – Hey! The opportunity presented itself. A metaphorical cookie to whoever figures out where the idea for this came from. Oh! If you guessed Nate for the last chapter…you were write. //Applause//

**WARNING!!!** This chapter contains a semi-graphic rape scene! I beg of you, _PLEASE_ don't read it if that will bother you. Don't say I didn't warn you, either, as I'm fairly certain I will be receiving several flames quite soon.

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Blind terror.

She'd never really felt it before. Not even when she'd been thrown off her colt and kicked in the head – No. That had been panic.

And when she'd looked up and seen an entire mountainside hurtling towards her at a bone-crushing speed that would have _surely_ killed her (and she'd only barely escaped with her head – minus one cowboy hat, of course) she was too jazzed up with adrenaline to be frightened. Much.

No. She'd never experienced that entire bodily shutdown that accompanied that particular emotion.

But, the moment he'd gripped her wrist hard enough to bruise and spun her around to face him, she'd known his surprise visit would not be a pleasant one. And when she'd gazed up into his face with hurt in her eyes, she'd seen that it was a twisted mask of sinister intent, and she'd known then. She'd felt it; that paralyzing fear that swept through her body, locking her limbs rigidly in place as he'd shoved her roughly up against the wall. Her face had frozen in the expression she'd assumed at his violent, unspoken declaration of the reasons for his actions: her eyes as large and as round as her kitten's milk saucer, and her lips parted slightly, as if still prepared to spit out the remark that had died on her lips upon viewing his face.

When he'd ripped her clothes off and plundered her mouth brutally, bruising her lips and drawing blood with harsh nips, she'd recovered enough to fight back, struggling to remove his thrusting tongue from the recesses of her unwilling mouth at the same time she'd squirmed to hit him anywhere she could reach. Shaking fingers tipped with sharp nails had found purchase on his once handsome face, gripping and raking in a downwards motion, leaving angry red gouges in their wake, which had begun to immediately bleed sluggishly.

He'd reared back with a strangled yell of, "Fucking bitch!" and she could smell the stale alcohol on his breath even as he'd kept her pinned to the wall as he'd reached up to the bloody trails on his cheek with the hand that was not gripping her hip painfully.

He'd used the same hand to strike her across the face, forceful enough to send her sprawling across the floor a few feet away. Her lip had begun to bleed, split in two places from the blow. She'd thrown her hands out in front of her instinctively to break her fall, but only succeeded in fracturing her wrist, the bone cracking from the blunt impact, and she'd cried out in pain.

He'd pulled her back to her feet, pinning her to the wall with his body pressed up against her, and still she struggled, fighting against the unwanted intrusion of her personal space. He'd used a hand to grasp both of her wrists, causing her to cry out again as the bones grated painfully against each other in her injured arm, and pinned them above her head.

With his other hand he'd unclasped her bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down her arms as tears formed unbidden in her eyes, but she'd stubbornly refused to let them fall. His hands had felt so foreign on her body; smooth fingers completely lacking the calluses that came with manual labor, and she'd known she would forever associate the feeling with the icy shiver that had slipped through her.

When her bra had fallen to the floor, on top of the pile that was her jeans and t-shirt, he'd moved to the elastic of her panties, drawing them down over her hips and legs one-handed, letting them drop to the floor.

And still she'd struggled.

Only when he'd removed his own pants and boxers, leaving his nicely pressed dress shirt on, had she begun to scream.

Angrily, he'd clamped his free hand over her mouth, smothering her shrill sounds of protest, though still she'd screamed, almost passing out from her efforts.

He'd sneered at her muffled objections and her eyes that had rolled into the back of her head at the lack of oxygen she was receiving, finding them both annoying and amusing as he'd rubbed himself against her, groaning at the sensation of her skin on his.

Her eyes had snapped back to his face at the feeling, showing equal parts disgust and fear before they got impossibly wider, all traces of repulsion gone as she'd became aware of him at her center. Only pure, wild terror remained.

Finally, he'd removed his hand from her mouth, and she hadn't quite enough time to scream before his mouth crashed back to hers, plundering her lips with bruising force at the same exact moment that he'd thrust into her savagely, moving his free hand up to join the other in pinning her arms against the wall, capturing her shriek of pain in his forceful kiss.

With each violent thrust of his hips she'd been crushed against the wall, her spine grinding painfully along its surface, causing her to scream again into his mouth until her throat had gone raw from the excruciating pain of both the wall abusing her back and having him so brutally inside of her.

When he'd finished, he let her drop boneless to the floor, where she remained, unmoving, as he'd quickly dressed, calling her filthy names and spitting vulgarities at her as he'd zipped himself up and righted his shirt.

She'd lain, huddled and naked, on the floor where she'd fallen as he'd stepped towards her, only flinching slightly in response to having him so near her again.

He'd smirked darkly once before his foot connected with her side with enough force to send her flipping through the air, only to crash against the wall again. She'd heard and felt the crack of her ribs against the hard surface, but did not dare move with him still in the house.

She'd remained on the floor, wedged up against the wall, cradling her cracked wrist and trying not to breathe too deeply, and he'd stepped towards her again, crouching beside her as he'd trailed two digits through the blood smeared on her inner thighs. Fresh and bright against his pale skin, he'd brought them to his eyes for inspection, his face twisting in a sinister smirk before drawing the two fingers covered in her blood across her cheek.

Only after he'd left did she move, slowly and stiffly pulling on her clothes, careful of her wrist and ribs. But she'd barely felt the pain from them at that moment.

She hadn't bothered to clean herself up. She'd known it was useless as she'd walked calmly into the living room and crouched in a corner, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs so she could rest her head on them and finally let the tears fall.

No matter how hard she scrubbed herself with soap and water and a soft, fluffy towel, she'd known she'd always be dirty. She'd always be tainted.

Even after the bruises had faded and the boned had healed; after the blood had been washed away and she'd rid herself of every physical remnant of _him_, he'd always be with her.

His face would always be there when she closed her eyes.

He'd forced himself inside her head. He'd never leave.

And Sam cried.


End file.
